One Day in Paradise
by BobBQ
Summary: An assassination job in the Bahamas leads Canaan to cross Alphard's path once again...
1. One Day in Paradise

(Boilerplate legalese: _Canaan_ is, as should be quite obvious, a creation of Type-Moon and PA Works, not me.)

_One Day in Paradise_

Canaan would have preferred to wake up unable to recall any of the previous night's events. She'd been sober throughout, however, and so she remembered – with embarrassing clarity – _exactly_ how she came to be lying naked in a narrow bunk, trapped between a steel bulkhead covered by something intended to resemble wood paneling, and an equally naked woman. Looking over this sleeping obstacle, Canaan could see several articles of clothing lying in a careless jumble on the floor, her own among them.

_Enough of this farce,_ the pale-haired woman thought tiredly. She carefully lifted herself and was swinging a leg over the side of the bunk when a dusky arm slipped across her back. Looking down, she was greeted by that same old maddening smirk.

"Leaving already?"

The mocking voice set Canaan's teeth on edge. "Alphard, I have work to do."

"You have work _tonight,"_ the woman underneath corrected smugly. "Where are you going before the sun is up?"

"..."

"I thought so." Alphard languidly bent a knee so that so that Canaan was forced to straddle it. "You made such cute noises last night... Let me hear them again."

Canaan locked her elbows, preventing the other woman from pulling her down. "If you don't keep your word after this – "

"Feh... Why wouldn't I?" The taller of the pair wrapped her other leg around Canaan's waist, then used her elbow to raise herself. "Now that I have you where I want you, your precious Maria has nothing to fear from me."

Canaan could feel her arms weakening, but held out a little longer. "And just why is your _bed_ the place where you want me?"

"You were the one who told me to go on living." Alphard smirked again. "And this is the ultimate act of life, isn't it? ...Besides, don't you think the tension makes it more exciting?"

The synesthete flushed a little. "I... wouldn't know."

"You're as childish as ever." Alphard stretched her neck. "Kiss me."

Canaan complied grudgingly. Might as well get it over with now, she reasoned, and hope that Alphard didn't ask for a third round later. Their lips were pressing together when there came a knock at the narrow door on the far side of the cabin. "Boss, you awake?"

Of Alphard's previous lieutenants, one had died in a fit of jealous insanity and the other had discarded his worldly ways for the life of a monk. She'd replaced them by promoting two women whose backgrounds Canaan couldn't confidently discern, individuals who went by the names Boxer and Berdan. It was the latter who had interrupted the pair.

"I am awake," Alphard answered, keeping a firm grasp on Canaan's body. "What news?"

"No problems," the muffled voice replied. "Forecast is still good, and no unwanted company. We've got the island all to ourselves."

"Excellent. Anything else?"

"I told Boxer to get some shuteye and made some coffee. Would you, uh, like some?"

Alphard sank back onto the sheets, tugging Canaan down atop herself. "In a little while," she said placidly. The look on her face was plain to read: _no escape, my dear._

* * *

A small cardboard box came flying at Canaan's head almost as soon as she emerged from the aft hatchway. Catching it by pure reflex, she discovered it was a package of sweets. "'Morning, shrimp," Berdan grunted, perched at the yacht's stern with a bucket between her knees. "I got the right brand, didn't I?"

"Yes..." Deft fingers opened one end of the box, extracted a narrow stick and peeled back the wrapper. "Thank you."

Berdan made a noncommittal grunt and went back to peeling potatoes. She was a redhead with sinewy limbs and a grumbling temperament, and the boat was hers, at least nominally. She made no secret of the fact that she disliked having Canaan aboard it. Canaan decided to just leave the skipper alone and turned her face to the east, rolling the sugary tip of the rod across her tongue as she watched the morning sun hanging low over Hawksbill Cay. Two or three minutes passed before she turned her eyes towards Berdan again, catching her in the act of wiping an arm across her forehead. The other woman was already starting to sweat.

"Are you all right?" Maybe it was a stupid question, but it was the kind Maria would definitely ask.

"Fine," Berdan muttered. She threw what might have been an envious glance at Canaan as she reached for another potato. "You're from a hot place, ain't you?"

"Hot and dry," Canaan replied ambiguously. "Not humid like this."

"Huh... Still, looks like you're handling it pretty good."

"I suppose." The khaki shorts and the red and white Hawaiian shirt were lightweight enough, but Berdan's own all-white clothes weren't especially heavy either. Maybe Canaan's origin _did_ have an influence. "Would you rather be someplace cold?"

"Cold?" Berdan squinted. "What do you know about cold, eh?"

"I know cold can be an enemy as much as heat."

"Hah." The henchwoman whipped her knife across the potato's surface so sharply that the next slice missed the bucket entirely. "I'd take the Fundy in January over this _sauna_ any day."

"You really don't like the Bahamas."

"What's there to like? The reefs? The sandbanks? The friggin' _tourists?"_

"That's enough, Berdan." Alphard emerged from the cabin, clad in a dark two-piece swimsuit with a towel strategically draped over her shoulder to conceal the stump of her left arm. Her surviving hand grasped the handle of a large case, which she passed to Canaan before sitting down. "I'm not paying you to complain."

"Sorry, boss."

Canaan, meanwhile, had opened the case to discover that it contained the components of a compact, silent sniper rifle. "Alphard, why..?"

"It's more subtle than the SIG you brought," her erstwhile nemesis pointed out. "There's a starlight scope in the bottom compartment."

"It doesn't have enough range."

"Not if you were planning to interdict Duquesne at the dock or the airstrip," Alphard agreed, "but wouldn't it be far easier for you to eliminate him at the party itself?"

"I'd go with that," Berdan spoke up. "The guards on the island are packing seven-six-two FNs with optics. You don't wanna be going loud around those guys, x-ray vision or no."

"I know." Canaan lifted the rifle's receiver group out of the case. "But I haven't handled a Vintorez in a long time."

"You have all day to practice," Alphard replied evenly. "And there's another good reason to use it."

"What's that?"

"Duquesne thinks the Russians are after him," Berdan cut in again. "Didn't you hear?"

"No."

"Okay, listen – three weeks ago he whacked a couple of FSB agents who were snooping on his Kaliningrad racket. Now he's convinced the Ivans are coming for payback, and he's told all his buddies to be on the lookout for them." The irritable one nodded towards the case on Canaan's lap. "You cap him with that, who'll suspect it was anybody else?"

"I see." Canaan frowned. "How can I be sure he'll be exposed during the party?"

"Leave that to me," said Alphard, rising to her feet. She nodded towards the dinghy drifting under the boat's stern. "Shall we?"

* * *

_Pschhht!_

"Hit, a little bit high."

_Pschhht!_

"Hit, dead center."

_Pschhht!_

"Hit, center again."

"I'm out." Canaan removed the magazine, racked the bolt carrier and began to disassemble the weapon. "That was the last of the ammo."

"Mm." Her one-armed spotter unhurriedly folded the miniature tripod on which her rangefinder scope sat. Neither spoke as they packed their things and set out towards the standing piece of wood at which Canaan had been shooting, across the broad, shallow depression in the island's center. "Look at that," Alphard said after a few minutes. "So carefree, don't you think?"

"Huh?"

"The simplicity of their existence." The dark-haired woman pointed into the meandering channel beside which they walked, one of several which snaked through the sands, where a pair of black rays the size of hubcaps were swimming. "The freedom of not being burdened by conscience."

Canaan was neither a philosopher nor a marine biologist, but it seemed to her that a life consisting of naught but eating and trying to not _be_ eaten long enough to find a mate wasn't much of a life. "Natsume Yuri wants me to kill you," she said, trudging on in her floppy sandals. It was an abrupt revelation, but the heat was starting to affect even her. "You already know that, don't you?"

"I do." Leaving the rays behind, Alphard waded into the middle of the channel itself. "Were you surprised by it?"

"No," the synesthete admitted. "I knew you were alive as soon as my old gun came back."

"That Beretta didn't suit me," her companion declared. "Besides, I knew you'd never turn it on me again."

"True." Canaan's hazel eyes scanned the tree-lined ridge ahead, which marked the island's eastern shore. "If I did that, my final order would be meaningless."

When she looked at Alphard again, she was surprised to see her old enemy smiling at her with none of the brash attitude to which she had become so accustomed. "I don't think I truly understood what Siam was trying to tell me until after I fell into the river," Alphard recalled with a hint of nostalgia. "The thing which mattered most..."

"Which is?"

"You." Alphard spoke with solemn certainty. "You are Hope, who fills the void of the Loneliness which is me."

"..._What?"_

"You were never very good with metaphors." Alphard laughed a little as she stepped out of the water and onto the bank at Canaan's side. "It's ironic... Liang and Cummings were destroyed by their unrequited loves, and I scorned them for it. I never thought it was possible for me to share the experience."

"Experience?" Canaan raised an eyebrow as the duo finally arrived at the target. _Alphard can't possibly mean what I think she means. She simply isn't that kind of –_

"You, meanwhile... Abandoning Oosawa Maria was quite a waste of opportunity."

Canaan flushed. "I never abandoned her," she said defensively. "I just... can't be near her when all I do is put her in danger."

"Is protecting her too great a burden for you?" Alphard regarded Canaan keenly. "Or are you afraid you might someday fail?"

"..!"

Alphard found her answer in Canaan's expression. "Well, then... What if I protected her for you?"

When Canaan spoke, her voice was so low that the rolling surf nearly drowned it. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it would benefit both of us. Do I need a better reason?"

Canaan bit her lip. She might consider such a proposal if it came from certain others, but to hear it from _Alphard_ of all people... "How could I possibly entrust her to you?"

"Who else, then? We know each other so well, you and I." Alphard's smirk returned as she knelt before the sniping target, the weathered face of the chunk of flotsam splintered by the clustered impacts of heavy nine millimeter spitzers. "I'll let you think about it." On that note she tipped the wood over and began scooping sand over it. "We're done here, and I imagine Berdan will fuss if we're late for lunch."

"Mm..."

Concealment of the evidence complete, Alphard rose and took the rifle case from Canaan. "Permit me."

* * *

"Radar and satellites are showing a lot of activity up there," Berdan remarked. "Must be one hell of a party."

"That's right." Alphard emerged from the cabin in a very close-fitting maroon dress, camouflaging her missing arm with a silk shawl. "How do I look?"

"Damn sexy, boss."

Boxer briefly took her eyes off the screens beside the wheel and nodded in agreement. "Very good, ma'am."

"You're sure this will work?" Canaan pressed, coming out behind Alphard.

"Of course," the lady of the evening replied casually. "Don't underestimate the weight my name carries with these people."

Canaan hoped so. Dusk was falling rapidly around the boat, more and more stars winking into view with each advancing minute. There wasn't much time left before the operation began, and Berdan's malaise had been displaced by anticipatory glee. Boxer, on the other hand, was her usual self: meek and sleepy. The two of them had cleaned out the boat's arms locker, leaving the cockpit seats and floor strewn with firearms and the odd blade.

"One for me and one for you," Berdan recited, selecting a FAMAS and a G41 from the inventory. She passed the latter forward to Boxer and picked up a Mossberg Mariner. "One to repel boarders – " _Shack-chack!_ " – and the shrimp gets her pick of the rest."

"The Stechkin, please." Canaan pointed to a large automatic pistol with a sound suppressor and wire stock lying beside it. "I'd better keep in theme."

"Now you're talking." Berdan tossed it to her, then picked up another suppressor and began screwing it onto her own muzzle. "Boss, you mind if I go over the plan one more time?"

"If you wish."

"Okay... Assuming nobody changed it behind my back, we'll drop the shrimp and her kayak on the way in, then head for the dock so the boss can gatecrash this gig. Boxer and I will anchor over by the sunken plane and see how it goes." She threw a pointed look at Canaan. "Do _not_ make me break out the hockey stick... The shrimp gets onto the island, waits for the boss to lure out Duquesne and nails him, then the shrimp scrams while the boss covers our tracks. If shit doesn't get serious, we'll make our pickups and get out of the Exumas AFAP. Everyone got it?"

"We do," said Alphard smoothly.

"I hope so." Berdan began to collect the unclaimed weapons. "Norman's Cay has gone back thirty years since it was sold off. All it's missing now are Lehder and his cocaine crews... Be right back." With those words she climbed through the hatch and vanished from sight.

Alphard took a few moments to check on Boxer before joining Canaan at the stern. "Good luck."

"I don't need luck." Canaan slapped a magazine into the Stechkin and tucked it away. "Even yours."

"As you like." Alphard stood quietly for a minute, gazing at the stars. Her eyes were drawn, as they had been on many other nights, to the dim, winding constellation Hydra and the single bright star in it: the star with her own name.

"Canaan."

"Hm?"

"What color am I now?"

"...A better color than you used to be."

* * *

Canaan's synesthesia lit up the guards and dogs patrolling the shores of Norman's Cay better than any thermal vision technology. Her double-bladed paddle propelled her into a blind spot in their defenses with near-perfect silence. After dragging the kayak up into the trees, she melted into the foliage. It took maybe six minutes for her to evade the various security measures around the estate at which a number of leading figures in contemporary criminal enterprises were gathered, her target among them. She wasn't sure which of Henri Duquesne's diverse ventures had earned him the price on his head, though she suspected it was the diamond laundering. From her perspective, that wasn't important.

Once she had identified an ideal vantage point, she sat cross-legged and opened the case. She hadn't lost her touch nearly as much as she feared, and the buttstock and suppressor assemblies of the Vintorez were reunited with its receiver in no time. Topping the contraption with a bulky ex-Soviet night sight of late 1980s manufacture, she began her vigil in earnest. Several figures appeared on the veranda of the estate, tempting targets all, but Canaan held fire. She was being paid to kill only one of them tonight.

A few more minutes' patience rewarded her with first sight of Duquesne. Alphard had already sunk her claws into him, and he was entirely enthralled by her. There was a sharp contrast between the two, her looking graceful and exotic despite her scars, while he was rotund, balding and sweating buckets – quite possibly on account of a suit far heavier than one should wear in tropical climates. As Canaan observed, Alphard slowly yet inexorably drew her prey out towards the end of the veranda and away from potential witnesses.

Canaan snugged the stock against her cheek, adjusting for bullet drop and windage as Duquesne came to a standstill beside Alphard... And then, completely unwanted, the details of a certain conversation with her distant handler began to play in her head.

_"The target is quite formidable this time."_

_"The target is..?"_

_"A woman with one arm."_

_"...Understood."_

The scope's reticule drifted slightly to the right. _Damn you!_ Canaan thought savagely, and pulled the trigger twice.


	2. Canaan Don't Surf

(This time I shall apologize preemptively for any typographical errors, contradictions or omissions on my part.)

_Part Two – Canaan Don't Surf_

There was a dull _whap-whap_ as the bullets impacted. The intruding guard stumbled backwards, crashed against the wall and slumped into an undignified heap. Duquesne stood frozen, utterly slack-jawed, until the third shot hit him above the ear.

Then a klaxon sounded, dogs started barking, and spotlights began powering up all over the island.

* * *

"Great," Berdan sighed. "Oy, Boxer!"

"It'll be ready in a minute."

"Never mind the freakin' coffee," the skipper snapped. "We've got a problem!"

"Hm?" Boxer's head appeared in the hatchway. "Oh dear."

"No kidding." Berdan went to the helm as gunshots rolled across the water. "Get on the windlass and bring the anchor up. We're going in!"

"Yes, yes..."

The engine turned over, coughed a couple of times and caught with a rattling roar. "And Boxer – "

"What?"

"Gimme the duct tape."

* * *

_We've been compromised._ That much was obvious to Canaan as she fitted rubber protective caps over the lenses of her night sight and traded the ten-round magazine for a twenty-round box. Someone had tipped off the island's owners, and she'd walked straight into their trap. Now she had to find an escape route – an escape route for two, no less.

Alphard was on the move already, kicking off her high heels and tearing open the side of her dress from the hem right up to the swell of her hip. Mobility maximized, she vaulted over the veranda handrail and descended the slope below it. Canaan could still track her, but hopefully the foliage would hide her from less sophisticated seekers. _Well,_ the pale-haired woman amended, acutely aware of unchained German Shepherds afoot in the vicinity, _human seekers, anyway._

The option of simply leaving Alphard behind never occurred to her.

* * *

"Berdan..."

"What?"

Boxer pointed at the boom box under her companion's seat. "Why Arabic?"

"We're rescuing the sultan's daughter and her harem of one, ain't we?"

The second henchwoman frowned. "You know our employer prefers – "

"Yeah, and I'd prefer that my old man wasn't a hoser. Can't have it all." A line of miniature geysers erupted alongside the watercraft. Berdan cranked the wheel one way, then the other. "Shit, they're on to us!"

"May I suggest – " _Ponkponkponkponkponk!_

"I was right about not using fiberglass," the captain noted. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was saying – " Boxer broke off once more, this time to brace herself as the zigzagging vessel lurched. " – that you should play something with a little more weight to it."

"Sure," Berdan replied flippantly, steering to cut off a larger yacht also motoring towards the target dock. "If _you_ drive."

"Very well." Boxer ducked briefly while the idiot with the machine gun chewed up the superstructure of the large boat astern, then took over the controls.

The idyllic ambiance track cut out, soon replaced by a frenzied thrashing of drums and guitars with equally intense vocals: _"Mah milkshake brings all thah boys tah thah yahd, an' they're like, 'it's bettah than yahs' – damn right, it's bettah than yahs! Ah could teach yah, but Ah'd have tah chahge!"_

"Boo-yah!" Berdan picked up her FAMAS. "Infinity Ward's got _nothin'_ on this!"

* * *

"Alphard..!"

"Good shooting back there," the one-armed woman remarked casually. "Can you find a path?"

"Yes," Canaan replied "We should go... that way."

She started towards the shore, aiming to cut across to the dock where the guards were fewest. Alphard matched her step for step, breathtakingly nimble on bare feet. "So," the dark one prompted, "is this Natsume's revenge?"

"How would I know?" The synesthete gritted her teeth. "They're using dogs to fill the gaps... Go left!" She changed direction. "There's just one guard – straight ahead, on the edge of the road!"

"He's mine." Alphard put on an extra burst of speed, passing Canaan as the pair burst out of the undergrowth and onto a low, unpaved track. The man turned around, caught unprepared and wide open to his foe's assault. The lady of lethality slapped his rifle aside with indifference born of long experience and brought her knee up into his groin, hard enough to lift his boots off the ground and hammer his call for help down to an agonized grunt. She finished by efficiently smashing her hand into his throat.

Canaan slung the silent rifle across her back and picked up the fallen man's weapon, identifying it mainly by touch as an Enfield L1A1. Its selector switch had been filed down to permit fully automatic operation: it would roar and it would kick, but she'd run out of ammo _fast_ if she kept relying on the Vintorez. She slung the L1's magazine pack over her shoulder, extracted a pistol from the holster on the corpse's hip and handed it to her accessory in adventure. "Take this," she ordered tersely. "Let's go."

Alphard nodded, a finger resting feather-light above the Glock's plastic trigger. "As you command, my lady."

_Now is _not_ the time for that._ Canaan redoubled her pace as gunfire reached her ears from the northeast. Checking the 6 o'clock vector, she saw that the dogs had caught their scent. "Run!"

It hardly needed saying, since she and Alphard both were at flank speed already. The home stretch flew by in just a few seconds, and then they were sprinting down the open road with the finish line straight ahead. There was a large yacht lying helpless beside the main dock, tangled up in its mooring lines and listing to port. Berdan's boat was sitting just off the end of the narrow wooden pier immediately to the south – a recent construction, according to the assassin's background investigation – with a pair of thin ropes holding it fast. Most of the lights in the area had been knocked out and the air was thick with the stench from the burning 4x4 at the end of the road. In the distance, surviving spotlights slashed the night fruitlessly. Canaan's sensory blend revealed to her that the ground was littered with corpses, yet she and Alphard were not alone.

"Boss?" Berdan cautiously peeked around the corner of a large packing case near the landward end of the pier. "Shrimp? That you?"

"It's us," Canaan confirmed, rolling into cover beside the skipper. "What's the situation here?"

"You have great timing," Berdan remarked. "I just ran outta mags... Uh, situation's okay. Had a short firefight, but we're still floating. Some asshole lit us up with a five-fifty-six and a big ammo can. He's been silent for a couple minutes – don't know if we got him or he just overheated." The redhead looked back over her shoulder as a roar of vehicle engines overlapped with the ferocious baying of the hounds. "Can we go now?"

"With all haste," Alphard assured. "We've accomplished our goal." She took point as they hustled down the pier, Canaan close behind her while Berdan brought up the rearguard. They'd covered maybe two thirds of its length when the machine gunner interdicted from their left flank.

The first burst passed behind Canaan. She dimly registered a muffled yelp followed by a loud splash, and then another cluster of projectiles whizzed across the path to freedom ahead. One unlucky round pierced Alphard's extended leg, tearing through the muscles a palm's width below her left knee. For one agonizing second she teetered, seeming certain to plunge into the water, before her erstwhile rival's hand snapped out and hooked around the inside of her elbow. "Ugh!" Canaan grunted, throwing herself down and taking Alphard with her. _"Boxer..!"_

"On it," was the terse reply, followed by a strobing white muzzle flash and a brisk _ratatat_ from the boat's after deck. It was enough: the next copper-jacketed hailstorm dashed futilely against the vessel's steel, brass and bulletproof glass fittings instead of shredding the vulnerable bodies of the young women.

Canaan scrunched up and wriggled around until she could sight in on the landward attacker. "Clench," she hissed, fitting the Enfield's stock against her shoulder. Siam had ensured that she would never be ignorant of opportunities for improvisation, but even he would probably raise an eyebrow at the sight of his star pupil using Alphard's firm butt as a rifle rest.

_Boom-boom-boom! ...Boomboomboomboomboomboomboom!_

She'd likely hit her mark by the second or third round, but she wasn't taking chances. "Come on," the petite fighter coughed, rising once more. "We're almost there!"

Alphard stumbled, trying to support herself as vehicle engines roared behind their backs. Canaan half-dragged, half-carried her the rest of the way to the yacht, where Boxer helped them climb aboard. "Berdan fell in," the henchwoman reported. "Should I – _down!"_

The target Canaan had engaged wasn't the only guard packing a Minimi tonight, and the guy riding shotgun in the first Land Rover had better trigger discipline. He kept the three women completely pinned in the cockpit as eight of his cohorts advanced up the pier. Canaan failed to deter the men by firing her battle rifle over the gunwale, but she managed to counter-pin them by spraying an entire magazine's worth of Stechkin ammo in the brief window of opportunity created by the gunner's reload break. "Boxer!" she yelled, slapping a second magazine into the Soviet machine pistol. "I need a diversion!"

"I shall do my utmost." _Schick... Shachak!_ "On your mark."

Canaan planted a sneaker on the portside cockpit cushion, taking a deep breath. "Three... Two... Whuh?"

Someone was firing a pistol in front of her, cranking the trigger rapidly with scant care for accurate placement. Pulling her head back down, Canaan marshaled her interlinked inputs and drew the swirling kaleidoscope back into focus. She'd been seeing the color blue a lot tonight: that aura flared in Alphard when she struck down Duquesne, flickered among the trees as the island's security pursued the interlopers, and shone faintly in Boxer throughout. All of those paled before the intensity of the glow washing over her at this moment, however, as if the killing intent of an entire infantry platoon had been crammed into one body. At that moment she understood _exactly_ why Alphard was so tolerant of Berdan's bad moods.

_"Now!"_

Canaan's cry rang high and clear as she flipped the APB's fire control switch to the semi-auto position and leaped over the port handrail. She landed among men already dead, shot from below as they lay prone on thin wood planks. The Minimi gunner ducked behind the open door of the SUV in a frantic maneuver of self-preservation, leaving only his lower legs exposed. Canaan mercilessly put a bullet through each one, and the man fell on blood-soaked gravel. He was quickly put out of his misery.

"Got him? Good." Berdan climbed out of the water and pulled herself onto the pier with a grunt. Her right hand had a bone-crusher grasp on an empty handgun. "And I'm fine, thanks for asking." She followed Canaan back to the boat, pausing just long enough to cast off the lines before leaping aboard as the vessel began to drift away. "Shrimp, take out those headlights! Boxer, how's the boss?"

"It's not serious." Boxer headed for the cabin while Canaan locked and loaded, leaving Alphard huddled at the rear of the cockpit. "I'm fetching the medical kit."

"You do that." Berdan ejected her depleted magazine into the vacant ashtray under the compass binnacle and dropped the dripping USP beside it. Rough hands grabbed the wheel and put it hard over, swinging the bow around until it pointed to open waters. "Any particular heading you want, boss, or do I steer from the gut?"

"Take us down along Shroud and Hawksbill," Alphard barked over the din of Canaan's intermittent gunfire, "then cut west across the banks. Let's see if they try to follow us."

"Warp five, Mister Sulu!" Berdan rammed the throttle all the way forwards. _"Prreeeooooowwwwwww!"_

* * *

Canaan came to with a start. She couldn't hear any shooting – which was reassuring – and she was still clothed – which was also reassuring – but she couldn't clearly remember how she'd wound up here, except for a vague recollection of a sudden heaviness in her limbs. The texture under her hands and the breeze across her face told her that she was lying on a cockpit cushion. Somewhere in the belly of the beast, a diesel engine thrummed confidently.

"You're awake." The voice and the accompanying hand caressing Canaan's hair filled in the remaining blanks. Opening her eyes, she found Alphard's face gazing down at her from among the stars. "Had a little too much excitement, hm?"

"Nnngh." Canaan tried to sit up but was beaten down by a wave of dizziness. "We're safe?" she mumbled, her head sinking back onto Alphard's lap.

"For the time being." Alphard leaned forwards a little, emphasizing the absence of her ruined dress and the equally provocative style of the flimsy articles she wore under it. "Are you comfortable?"

"Mm." _When did Alphard learn to be so... disarming?_ The synesthete turned her face to the side, pulling her gaze away from the distracting under-view of the other woman's cleavage. Boxer was sitting on the opposite side of the boat, placidly rinsing the salt out of Berdan's clothes and weapons. Berdan herself was still on station at the helm, though she had turned steering duty over to the autopilot. "Alphard..."

"Yes?"

"Berdan... Is she – "

"Am I _special?"_ The redhead's audible sarcasm content was slightly above average. "Was Franklin Dixon one of the most prolific youth authors of the twentieth century?"

"...Yes?"

"No – but his first ghostwriter was from my hometown."

Canaan didn't get it. "But earlier you were..."

"I was doing my thing. I was pulling my weight." Berdan shrugged. "Hard to figure that out when you're always playing with the cheat codes on, eh?"

The light-haired woman ignored the verbal jab. "Where did you learn to fight?"

"LFC boot camp, then four years in the shit."

"Four years..?"

"ISAF, Kandahar." The skipper was probably rolling her eyes by now, but she kept her back turned. "You wanna know my cup size while you're at it?"

Alphard interceded. "Don't bully her, Berdan," she admonished, stroking Canaan's forehead. "Innocents are rare and precious in our world."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Canaan turned her questioning eyes to Boxer. "My personal history is rather sordid," the better-mannered underling said candidly, "but it is also quite banal, so I will not bore you with it. Is there anything you would like, Miss Canaan?"

"Um, not now... Alphard, I need to call Natsume."

"As you wish." The elegant mastermind had already seen to it that her guest's bag was within reach. From it she took a Nokia-branded satellite phone, the model of which would remain nominally exclusive to the Finnish market for another eight months. "Be careful what you say to her."

"I know." Canaan dialed the number with her thumb and waited warily for her handler to pick up.

_"Are you all right?"_

That wasn't quite how she expected this to start. "Yes..."

_"Good. I know you got Duquesne... and you probably know that we have a leak."_

"A leak?"

_"Somewhere on my end, so don't tell me where you are or where you're going. Is Alphard still with you?"_

"..."

_"I know you've been putting off your other assignment, and just this once I'm glad you did... The situation has changed: Alphard al-Shu'ara absolutely must not die."_

Canaan blinked. "What?"

_"They're after her, not you. I don't have the details, but it involves her family somehow. I may need you to go to Amman... I'll call you again when I have more information. Until then, stay with her and keep out of trouble."_

Natsume hung up without another word, leaving a very nonplussed Canaan in her wake. "Well," said Alphard, having listened in on the whole exchange, "this complicates things."

Her voice was casual, but there was a thread of stress in it that hadn't been there before. "Do you know what she meant?"

"I think so." Alphard offered her trademark smile of infuriation. "But now is not the time to speak of it... You know, Paris is quite tolerable at this time of year."

Canaan's delayed comprehension was perhaps justified, as her state of mind bore a striking resemblance to a roulette wheel. "Paris is..?"

"There's a little Chinese restaurant by the Seine that I'd like to take you – "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Berdan cut in. "You mean the place with that hyperactive brat who wore her hair in big loops?"

Boxer also seemed to be familiar with the establishment in question. "Wasn't she the one who stuffed her shirt with dumplings?"

"Yeah, she did that too. I still have nightmares about the soup tureen..."

Canaan listened to the conversation with growing incredulity. _What kind of absurd coincidence..?_

"How about it?" Alphard pressed. "We can eat out, tour the museums, stroll in the parks, find a quiet spot and make love in the grass..."

"You won't take 'no' for an answer, will you?"

The smile grew. "Only if it is the majority opinion."

"I have no objections," said Boxer, demurely indicating which side her croissant was buttered on.

"It's fine with me," Berdan chimed in, "as long as I don't have to interpret French, dress like a maid or frog blast the vent core."

There was a resigned sigh. "Paris it is."

"Excellent." Alphard gently raised Canaan to a sitting position. "If you're feeling better, let us retire."

"Are you going to bed already, ma'am?" Boxer stood up. "I haven't changed the sheets or – "

"It won't be necessary," her mistress replied mildly, licking her lips. "Come along, my dear. We still haven't tried the strap-on..."

Canaan's cheeks flushed, the change in shade strong enough to be visible in the dim cockpit lights, but she allowed herself to be led below. Berdan and Boxer were left topside to carry on their work as the boat motored towards an untouchable horizon.

"Berdan," said Boxer after several minutes, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine," the other henchwoman replied quizzically. "Why?"

"You've been standing there with an odd look on your face."

"Oh." Berdan's answer was a sheepish one. "I was just trying to figure out, uh... which one of them would, you know, _wear_ that thing."


	3. Merde et Imbéciles

(Pardon my French.)

_Part 3 – Merde et Imbéciles_

"Are you sure we're at the right place?"

"This is the address she gave me." Oosawa Maria craned her neck. "It looks kind of creepy, doesn't it?"

"Mm..." 'Creepy' was too mild a word for Minorikawa Minoru. 'Foreboding' or 'sinister' seemed more fitting for this neighborhood. He hadn't imagined it possible for the likes of it to exist in Paris, even on the outskirts.

"Well, since we're here..." Maria advanced to the front door of the drab little house and prodded the doorbell.

There was a pause of several seconds. _"Oui?"_

Maria cleared her throat. "Erm... Good afternoon, we're here to see Canaan."

_"Aha... Just a moment."_ There was a sharp _clack_ as a heavy bolt was drawn back, then the door opened. "Come in."

"Pardon the intrusion," said Minoru automatically. The inside of the house was surprisingly affluent compared to its exterior, with ornate light fixtures and a carpet so fine that to tread on it would be a prosecutable offense in some regions of the world. There was even an elephant-foot stand with three umbrellas in it. _No,_ he amended after a closer look, _two umbrellas and a shotgun._

"Canaan's in the living room," said the woman who'd let them in as she relocked the door. She had red hair and wore a chef's hat and a badly stained apron. "The right-hand door at the end of the hall."

"Thank you," Maria called after her as she disappeared back into the presumed kitchen. "Come on, Mino-san!"

_Enthusiastic as ever,_ Minoru complained to himself. Maria might be a renowned photographer now, but her behavior was no less bubbly than it was when the perpetually scruffy journalist had first encountered her... and the enigmatic Canaan, soon after that.

He was still ruminating over this when Maria reached the designated door and threw it open. "Canaan, we're – _waaaaa!"_

"Eh?" Minoru rushed into the room. _"Uwaaaaaah!"_

The living room was no less fancy than the entry, with an especially opulent couch placed against the far wall. Alphard reclined upon it, utterly and unabashedly nude. Canaan knelt beside her, one hand on Alphard's hip, the darker-skinned woman's outstretched fingers caressing her chin.

"C-C-Canaan..!" Maria stammered. "What are you – ? Why is she – ? What _is_ this?"

"Art."

"Huh?"

"Art." Canaan spoke without motion. "We're modeling."

"I'm very sorry." Minoru and Maria turned to find a fair, thin woman in a maid's uniform sitting in the armchair beside the door, a tray laid across her knees. "Mistress Alphard and Miss Canaan very kindly agreed to pose for me, but it seems I'm not as fast as I once was... I think this is enough for today, ma'am."

"Oh?" Alphard lowered her arm. "Well, suit yourself."

Canaan rose, hastily retrieving a khaki bathrobe from the foot of the couch and donning it with flushed cheeks. Alphard contrarily made no effort to cover herself. Minoru noted that she had lain in such a way as to conceal her missing arm, ditto the bandage around her left calf. She now stood with that leg slightly bent, resting her weight on the other foot and – quite deliberately, he was sure – drawing the observing eye towards places mortal man was never meant to gaze upon. Feeling a sharp pressure building in his sinuses, he quickly pinched his nose and focused his attention on the maid's drawing. It had been made with an ordinary pencil on ordinary paper, but the shading and attention to detail were exquisite.

"You draw very well," he said earnestly, "Miss..?"

"Boxer." The maid set the tray aside and stood up, offering the guests a curtsy. "Is there anything I can get for you? Tea or coffee perhaps?"

"Uh, not now, thanks." Minoru warily glanced to his left and found Maria confronting Alphard as Canaan draped a second robe over her well-defined shoulders.

"What do you want with Canaan?"

Alphard smirked. "I could tell you... but then you'd have to stay for dinner."

Canaan herself looked far more enthused about that notion than Minoru would have thought possible. "Yes, please stay."

"But..."

"Do you have other plans for tonight?"

"Well, no... Mino-san?"

Minoru shrugged. "Dare I refuse?" he asked rhetorically.

"Excellent." Alphard's smirk turned to a pleased smile. "Make yourselves comfortable," she went on. "Excuse us while we dress."

Minoru's nasal discomfort finally subsided as the mastermind of the escapade left the room, Canaan and Boxer in tow. "Dinner, huh..?"

"That's right," said the redhead, stealthily coming up behind him. "And while we're on the subject, I need a big, strong guy to grate some coconuts for me."

A powerful hand clamped around Minoru's upper arm and suddenly he was being inexorably drawn backwards. "Eh..? _Eeeeeeeeeh?"_

Next thing he knew, he was in a compact and very neat kitchen. "Right," his abductor announced, "hop to it!"

_What the hell?_ the reporter thought, but he did her bidding anyway. "So you're the cook?"

"Cook, captain, pilot and bodyguard. Name's Berdan." She lifted the lid of a large pot and stirred its contents, filling the room with a delicious smell. "Boxer will tell you I'm a trigger-happy psycho who snorts powdered Altoids for kicks, but don't believe her."

Minoru knew of Alphard's previous lieutenants only from second and third-hand sources, but he was pretty sure neither of them had been anything quite like this one.

* * *

"Wow!" Maria exclaimed. "This is really good... What is it?"

"I can't pronounce the name," Berdan admitted, shaking salt on her own plate of whatever it was. "But I'm glad you approve."

Minoru snuck a glance to either side of himself. _This is totally surreal,_ he decided. _I'm eating in the company of a superhuman assassin, a notorious mercenary and goodness knows who else, and they expect me to act like it's perfectly ordinary?_

Alphard, at any rate, seemed to find nothing unusual about those with whom she shared the round table. "We saw your new photograph gallery yesterday," she said to Maria. "Congratulations on the award."

"Oh!" Maria blushed. "Erm, thank you!"

"We saw also Yunyun," Canaan volunteered.

"Really? Yunyun is here too?"

The synesthete nodded. "She's working at a restaurant, a small one next to the river."

"How is she?"

"She fainted when she saw me," said Alphard, unconcernedly stabbing a slice of sausage. "I don't think I'll use that mascara again."

"She's all right," Canaan hurriedly assured Maria. "She really likes her work."

"That's wonderful! Isn't it, Mino-san?"

Minoru would have much preferred that Maria let him eat undisturbed and as inconspicuously as possible. "Uh... Yeah, that's great."

The photographer remained happily oblivious to his unease. "Have you been in Paris long, Canaan?"

"Ah, no – just a few days... We were in the Bahamas before this."

"The Bahamas? _Wow!_ What was it like?"

"It was all islands," Canaan reflected. "Islands with white beaches and long reefs... The water was clear and shallow. We spent a whole day sailing across a sandbank where we could always see the bottom."

Maria was listening raptly. "Amazing," she breathed. "I wish I could have been there."

"Too dangerous," Canaan replied bluntly. "There were idiots shooting at us."

"Shooting!?" Maria's indignantly rounded on Alphard. "What have you gotten Canaan mixed up in?"

"Nothing intentionally." Alphard offered a lopsided shrug. "In any case, it's quite trivial. Canaan's in no great danger... Speaking of that," she added, "is everything prepared, Berdan?"

"Yeah, boss. We can go any time you're ready... More potatoes, anyone?"

"Yes, please." Canaan passed her plate, then looked at Alphard. "Where are we going?"

"Berdan and I are going to visit a person who might know something about the opposition."

"Then I should come – "

"That won't be necessary," Alphard interrupted smoothly. "Our target is a petty distributor for the western European drug networks. Berdan can handle his guards."

Berdan flexed an arm dramatically. "Arr!"

"What about me?"

"I'm sure you and Miss Oosawa have a lot of catching up to do," Alphard chuckled. "Don't you?"

* * *

"She's not hurting you, is she?" It was the first thing Maria asked once Alphard and Berdan were out of the house and Boxer had entrenched herself in the kitchen.

"No." Canaan was blushing again. "She only... likes to do things in bed."

"In bed..?"

"Canaan." Minoru loomed over the assassin, fixing her with a keen gaze. "Are you in an _adult_ relationship with Alphard?"

His forwardness earned him a punch in the ribs. "Mino-san, you pervert!"

"Ow – ! Stop that!"

"Pervert, pervert, pervert!"

"...I guess it is."

Maria froze, fist cocked. "Eh?"

"I guess it is an adult relationship." Canaan shrugged. "Alphard knows more about these things than I do."

"But why would you..." Maria shook her head. "No, before that, how is it possible for two women..?"

"I don't really understand," the slender woman confessed, "but I think Alphard is in love with me."

One statement did not compute and two jaws dropped. _"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!?"_

* * *

"There's someone... No, it's not him." Berdan scrutinized the length of the street. "The asshole sure is taking his time."

"As is his habit at this time of night," Alphard pointed out.

"Yeah." Berdan briefly looked around the bare interior of the unfinished building in which she and her employer lurked. "This part of town hasn't changed at all. There's nothing here but shit... Shit and idiots."

Alphard walked from one end of the long room to the other. It would be a cubicle maze someday, assuming it survived its builders' bankruptcy. "What's bothering you?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing, boss."

"You aren't bothered by 'nothing'." Dark, predatory eyes roamed over the line of decaying warehouses across the road, intermittently painted unhealthy shades of yellow by streetlights. "If there's something on your mind, I want to hear it before we go in."

"It's none of my business, boss."

"Ah." Alphard sat down beside her lieutenant. "This is about Canaan."

"Yeah," Berdan admitted. "Was it really a good idea to leave her alone with the ditz?"

"It's for the best," said the Arabic enchantress philosophically. "That girl is to Canaan what Canaan is to me."

"I don't get that," the underling groaned. "I don't get it at all. You and the shrimp went from being at each other's throats to having rough noisy sex _every damn night,_ and it just doesn't make any sense... If you're so willing to get sweaty with her now, why did you ever want her dead in the first place?"

"I didn't." Alphard's ponytail quietly rustled against the collar of her trench coat as she looked up at the skeletal ceiling. "I taunted her, chased her, sparred with her... but I never intended to kill her." There was a long sigh. "You would understand if you'd been there."

"Not much I can do about that, boss."

"Indeed." Alphard reached into her coat and pulled out a Browning Hi-Power with smooth-worn edges and a blotchy patina on its flanks. "One day a wandering mercenary took a walk through a recently razed Lebanese village," she recalled, dropping the magazine into her lap. "He found a little girl with a remarkable power in the ruins, took her in and taught her everything he knew... He made her into a perfect killer, and he called her 'Canaan'."

Berdan blinked a few times. In the time it had taken for Alphard to summarize Canaan's past, she'd simultaneously field stripped the pistol literally single-handed. "What about you?" she prompted, turning her eyes back to the street.

"That's where the problem lay." Alphard turned the slide over and fitted the barrel into it. "The fool had taken on that same task once already, when he was hired to train an unwanted brat from a well-off Jordanian family." Her thumb seated the tail of the recoil spring under the barrel. "He'd even given her the same name."

"There were originally two Canaans?"

"Not for long." Slide met frame with a metallic scraping. "Consumed by bitter resentment, the first Canaan lured the mercenary into a trap and forced her usurper to watch as she killed him." The one-armed woman fitted the magazine into the grip, seated it with a push against her knee and thumbed the slide catch. "There, at the very end, he called her by a new name... 'Alphard'."

"..."

"There's more, but it'll have to wait." Alphard rose. "Charles is coming."

Berdan followed her lead and saw a balding man hurrying down the street, followed at a distance by a larger figure in a long overcoat. "Yeah, that's him," she muttered. "Just the one guard, but he's got something big under there."

The mastermind watched as the marked man turned and entered one of the warehouses, leaving his escort standing at the door. "All right," she said finally, turning away. "Let's go."

"Finally... And boss?"

"What?"

"Sorry to pry."

"My old subordinates never cared," Alphard remarked as she led the way down rough stairs with no handrail. "Why do you?"

"Do you remember how we first met, boss?"

"As I recall, you were being thrown out of a bar in Johannesburg."

"That's right," Berdan laughed softly. "I was completely tanked, with no more to my name than the clothes on my back and the change in my pockets, and _you_ took me in... Can you blame me for being worried about you?"

* * *

Sentry duty is one of the most onerous tasks known to humankind. It is either mind-numbingly monotonous or nail-bitingly dangerous, with no appreciable middle ground, and it is frequently required in the presence of the most unfavorable environmental variables. It was in such circumstances that the Italian guard of Monsieur Charles found himself assigned the miserable post of door watchman outside his master's decrepit place of business, his person and his stilted command of the French language on show for any and all passers by to gawk upon... Or so he told himself. He hadn't actually seen anyone, and at this late hour he wasn't likely to.

He was debating the pros and cons of sneaking off for a quick smoke when his perfect score of naught was rudely incremented to one. The stranger was a short-haired woman in a flight jacket, jeans and leather boots. "Excusez-moi," she said hesitantly, "savez-vous où je peux trouver Sarah Connor?"

"Non," the guard grunted, biting back the urge to say something far nastier. "Laissez-moi tranquille!"

"Ah..." She looked around for a few moments. "Je reviendrai."

He saw the dull gleam of metal too late. "Que fais – " _Pschht!_

"The world never runs out of suckers," Berdan snickered, tucking away the silenced P7 and dragging the corpse behind the dumpster at the corner of the building. "Right, boss?"

"Right."

The redhead opened the man's coat and loosed the black rifle which hung under his arm. "What have we here?" she mused, easing out the takedown pin and pivoting the upper and lower halves apart. "A Colt SP-One with a Lightning Link knockoff? Classy." She snapped the AR-15 shut and appropriated its magazines with quiet glee. "Now I can kick off the party with a _real_ bang..."

* * *

"...She says that one feels the best, but using it hurts my back."

_Maria,_ Minoru thought wearily, _how can you call her a normal girl now?_ The reporter was sprawled on the carpet, feebly clutching a handkerchief to his nose while Maria and Canaan carried on their conversation above. _I swear, Canaan's learned enough about this stuff to write an advice column..._

"Wow... I had no idea such toys existed."

"Me neither. There are some other ones that we haven't tried yet, with ropes and things..."

"Eeeeeeeh? So Alphard is into that kind of play too?"

"Play..?"

"Er, well... That's what I heard it's called..."

_Scratch that,_ Minoru amended. _You two can write the column together._

He was trying to sit up when he heard a muffled thumping from the direction of the front door. Boxer must have gone to open it, because the commotion escalated into a frenzied rushing. "Canaaaaaan!" a voice cried dramatically. "We have big problems!"

Minoru blinked. Upside down or not, he knew that freckled face and the loop of hair on either side of it. "Yunyun..?"

"What problems?" Canaan demanded, jumping to her feet. "What's happened?"

"Alphard is... She's..." The pint-sized Chinese girl ran back into the hallway. "You gotta help her!"

Canaan took off without another word. Minoru caught just a flash of maroon and khaki as she vanished, leaving him alone with Maria. "What's – "

A strangled cry of pain and a loud _thud_ in the hall sent both of them dashing out of the living room. Canaan lay in a heap just inside the front entrance, a pair of long wires running from the darts caught in her pants leg to a chunky device in Yunyun's hands.

"Yunyun!" Maria shouted reproachfully. "What are you doing?"

"S-sorry," the girl stammered, her grip on the Taser unsteady. "It's sort of an emergency, so..."

"That's enough." Boxer reentered the house, drawing the shotgun from the umbrella stand. "You two stay where you are. Come on, Yunyun... Yasmin! Rania!"

Yunyun obeyed the command, casting one last regretful look behind herself as she ran out. A pair of figures dressed all in black scurried past her, scooped up Canaan and bundled the synesthete out into the night before the witnesses could react.

"I'm sorry about this," Boxer said as she made to follow them, "I really am." A white envelope fluttered to the floor. "When Mistress Alphard gets back, please make sure she reads that."

* * *

"ALLEY-OOP, MOTHERFUCKERS!" _Ratatatatatatatat!_

Alphard had to smile at that. She'd asked for a distraction, and Berdan was certainly giving her one. Her coat flared, cool air flowing over her bare midriff as she double-timed it up the flights of stairs to the manager's office.

The office's two guards were still at their posts: "Halte! Lâchez votre – "

_Pakka! Pakka-pakka!_

One kick knocked the door half off its thin hinges. "Hello, Charles," Alphard intoned dryly, training the Browning on the trembling man behind the rickety desk. "Do tell me, what is dear Fatima up to?"


	4. Coming of Age in the ArmaLite Generation

(Sincere apologies for the long delay in updating. It wasn't supposed to take this long, honest!)

_Part 4 – Coming of Age in the ArmaLite Generation_

The ringing of the doorbell sent Maria springing to her feet as if she'd been jabbed by a needle. She walked the length of the hallway practically on the tips of her toes, Minoru close behind. Locating the intercom panel, the blond photographer made a ballpark guess and pressed the biggest button. "Hello..?"

_"We're back."_ Alphard sounded like her usual self: unhurried and confident.

Minoru wrestled the bolt aside and eased the door open. "Welcome back," he said gingerly, stepping aside as Alphard and Berdan filed into the house.

"Um..." Maria faltered as Berdan cheerfully pulled two halves of a long black rifle out from under her jacket. "A... A..!"

Alphard looked at Maria expectantly. "A..?"

Maria thrust the unsealed envelope at her, then braced for the backlash. It was not soon in coming: the one-armed woman read the letter quickly and then strode down the hallway, muttering to herself.

"Uh oh." Berdan locked onto Minoru. "Fill me in, bro."

The journalist took a deep breath. "Boxer kidnapped Canaan," he explained. "Yunyun was in on it."

"You gotta be kidding me." Berdan scurried after Alphard. "Boss? _Boss!"_

Minoru exchanged a worried look with Maria, then locked the door and followed the others. They found Alphard on the couch, the letter dangling from her fingers. "Boss," Berdan repeated insistently, "what is it?"

Alphard merely held out the creased paper.

"Uh, boss... I can't read Arabic, remember?"

"It's Turkish," her employer corrected flatly, "in Arabic script. Fatima has stolen a march on us."

"And Boxer went back to her... So now what?"

"Now we wait." Alphard crossed her legs. "The letter says she'll call with instructions."

Maria took exception to this lackadaisical outlook. "But Canaan... Canaan is..!"

"Since it's Fatima, she's probably safe for the moment."

Berdan cocked her head. "You sure about that, boss? If the hag is getting in on this – "

"I don't think she is," the Arab opined. "It's not her style." She rested her elbow on the back of the couch, drawing her coat aside and baring her toned abdomen. "Berdan, I need some coffee."

"Uh... Yeah, sure. Right away, boss." The underling slunk out, leaving Minoru and Maria standing awkwardly by themselves.

"You might as well sit down," Alphard pointed out. "It won't be long."

Maria put on a resolute face, marched straight to the vacant side of the couch and emplaced herself on it. Minoru eased himself into the chair which Boxer had earlier occupied. "What did you learn?" he ventured as the three seemed poised to slide into another of those ghastly silences. "From the, er, drug dealer?"

"A little," the criminal genius answered enigmatically, "though it seems of dubious value now."

Maria searched her face with a pleading expression. "Are you really sure Canaan is safe?"

"As long as Fatima has her, yes."

Minoru was starting to feel slightly peeved at the way Alphard kept dropping that name with no explanation. "So just who _is_ this – "

_Brrrrrrrrring-g-g!_

The shrill noise came from a grotesque brass fixture on the wall, which Minoru had initially taken to be a candle holder. Alphard was back on her feet in a flash, snatching the handset from its cradle. "Salaamu 'Alayk," she said, a caustic undercurrent running through the words. The rest of the conversation passed too fast for the others to follow.

Berdan came back in with cups and a pot balanced on a tray as the long-distance spat wrapped up. "Boxer planned ahead," she announced with grudging approval. "What's the word, boss?"

"Istanbul," Alphard replied, returning to the couch. "Tomorrow, seating for four."

The pugnacious redhead's features darkened as she poured the coffee. "So she wants us to go to her, eh? What's the hag after?"

"She wouldn't say, but the rest of the clan is not invited."

"And the shrimp?"

Alphard shrugged. "Taken as insurance, or so she claimed."

"Huh." Berdan poured an additional cup for Minoru, though he hadn't asked for one. "Sounds like she's afraid of you."

"Maybe," the boss conceded. "Or perhaps it's the others whom she fears."

"Will someone _please_ explain what's going on?"

"No," said Alphard, putting on her smug look and dashing Minoru's hopes for a speedy resolution. "You'll see when we get there."

"That's right," Berdan chimed in as she put the tray aside. "Boss, I gotta call Old Man McClune."

"Of course."

Minoru wasn't quite ready to quit. "Who is he?"

"My dad, I think."

The coffee was pretty good, but it wasn't enough to distract the reporter. "You think..?"

"He won't admit it." Berdan proffered the pot. "More?"

* * *

"Dammit, boss! How do you _do_ that?"

"Do what?" Alphard asked innocently. "I'm playing it as you showed me."

"Yeah, but... Crap." Berdan frantically twiddled her controls. "Switch, bro!"

"Eh?" Berdan's avatar, a burly Russian commando-type with a rapidly draining health bar, ducked out and was replaced by Minoru's Bruce Lee lookalike. The reporter tried to remember his least fail-prone combo, couldn't, and resorted to blind button-mashing. His character went bouncing across the stage, punching and kicking virtual air to the accompaniment of a ludicrous string of shrill screeches.

His escapade came to an end when Alphard's white-haired assassin waltzed in and hurled the hopping howler off the pagoda balcony, then leaped after him. _"K-O!"_ the game's announcer crowed as she landed.

That left Berdan standing alone against Team AlMar. "Uh oh," she muttered, watching the brief replay of Minoru's defeat.

Minoru was privately glad to be out of the fight. Glancing to the side, he saw Alphard watching the high-definition screen impassively, her thumb and little finger tweaking the directional sticks of the plastic controller balanced on her knee. She might have lost the first couple of rounds, but she'd gone on to mop the floor with Team MiBer in every round after.

"Switching."

Maria started as Alphard left the arena and her own character, a denim-clad girl whom she'd chosen for being the least weird in the lineup, jumped in. "Huh?"

"You need one hit to win." The corner of her teammate's mouth turned up just slightly. "Go."

"Not this time," Berdan cackled. "Sorry, sister, but – oh, no _way!"_

"Eh... Eheheheh..."

_"Winner!"_ the announcer added helpfully.

"You got lucky," the vanquished henchwoman growled. "But not this time!"

"That's what you said last time." Alphard sounded bored. "You really spend your pay on these things?"

"Not all of it," said Berdan defensively as the character select screen came up. "Take your pick, bro."

"Uh..." Minoru was pretty sure he'd lose again no matter who he played as, so he chose the purple-haired ninja without even looking at her move set. Berdan took the other ninja, with a laughably skimpy and conspicuous outfit, and soon they were being soundly thrashed by the same avatars they'd just discarded.

The journalist wondered just how much more surreal this could get. He and Maria had come to visit, ended up staying for dinner, become caught up in Alphard's latest intrigue and now spent an hour and a half playing this game to kill time before bed. Tomorrow they'd be flying to Turkey, of all places, and what then?

_Please,_ Minoru thought as he was KO'd once again, let there at least be a good story at the end of all this.

* * *

"Hold up."

Maria turned around, her too-large yellow pajamas rustling loudly. "Eh?"

"Change of plan." Berdan, who owned the pajamas but had given them up for a snug-fitting t-shirt, jabbed her toothbrush towards the opposing doors at the end of the house's narrow second-floor hall. "You're in the room on the right."

"Huh? But that's Alphard's – "

"Bingo."

Maria scowled. "You want something weird to happen."

"I got enough weird happening already... Look," the bigger woman sighed when Maria looked unwilling to accommodate, "the boss gets lonely, okay? She was all fired up when the shrimp – when Canaan came." Berdan shook her head. "I don't wanna see her slide back into a rut."

This didn't sound like the cool and collected Alphard whom Maria had known before. "Then why aren't you staying with her?"

"I'm no good at this stuff," Berdan admitted. "And anyway... I don't think the boss wants another lackey fawning over her."

Maria slowly nodded in agreement. _Nobody_ needed another Liang Qi. "Did you know... that person?"

"Who, the psycho with the 'Big Sister' fetish? I stayed away from her." The ex-soldier grimaced. "If you pushed her buttons, she'd rip your face off."

"I know." The blonde shivered at the memories of her own encounter with Alphard's crazed lieutenant. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just be there... Just in case, you know?"

"Mm." _I guess... I should do it for Canaan's sake, right?_ "Um, about Mino-san..."

"I won't do anything." Berdan did a passable impression of her employer's smirk. "Even if he snores."

Maria watched the henchwoman slip into the room on the left, then gathered her courage and walked to the door on the right. The bedroom was dark save for the light which spilled in from the hall or slipped through the blinds of the window. Alphard was already in bed, lying with her face towards the wall and seemingly asleep. _Good,_ Maria thought as she pushed the door shut, tiptoed across the carpet, turned down the covers and slipped between the sheets. _This isn't so bad._

"I suppose this was Berdan's idea?"

"...Eep!"

There was a soft laugh. "She can't walk as gracefully as you."

Maria wasn't mollified by the compliment. "She said you... might need someone."

"Is that the only reason?" Alphard rolled over. "Or don't you have your own motive for coming here?"

"I don't know what you mean."

The dusky-skinned one evidently found this exchange amusing. "I think you want something more from me."

"You're wrong."

"Perhaps you'd like to take another picture... this time without clothes?"

Maria turned her head away, feeling a heat in her cheeks. "Stop it."

Laughing again, Alphard rested on her elbow, allowing the blanket to fall loosely around her waist. "I haven't forgotten how you stared at me that day," she whispered seductively. "I don't mind if you want to... _explore."_

"No, no, no, no, no!" Maria's fist thumped the mattress between the pair. "I _will not_ have sex with you!"

"You don't want to experience what Canaan and I share?" Alphard's dark eyes glimmered among the shadows. "Or do you only want to try it with her?"

Maria twisted in the other direction. "I'm going to sleep," she said firmly. "Stop being weird."

She should have known better than to think the mastermind behind one of the world's deadliest organizations would quit so easily: Alphard crept upon her like the snake after which it was named, advancing until her nude form was all but pressed against Maria's back.

"We want the same thing, Oosawa Maria." The voice in the photographer's ear was soft and sensuous. "I'm willing to share. Are you?"

* * *

_I hope Maria is all right._

Sleep wasn't coming in a hurry, though Minoru's discomfort at sharing the narrow bed with Berdan had eased once the aggressive female passed into slumber without making any advances. _Keep it together,_ he told himself. _A reporter must adapt to all circumstances!_

No good. He could repeat the mantra until the cows came home, but it didn't change the fact that he had only a dim idea of how really complex this new situation was. Who was Fatima? Was she behind the attacks Canaan had mentioned at dinner? Why did Alphard act so nonchalant about the abduction? What did she expect to find in Istanbul? Where was this all leading to? When would anyone tell him what was really going on?

_Bah!_ Minoru planted his face in the pillow with a grunt of frustration. _One sheep! Two sheep!_

He almost missed the faint scraping as the bedroom window was wedged open from the outside. "Oosawa Maria!" a voice hissed theatrically. "I've come to save – _gwaaamf!"_

Either Berdan slept very light, or wasn't asleep at all: she vaulted off the mattress, sending the blanket flying, and yanked the intruder into the room. "I had a feeling you'd be back," she hissed, dragging her small-bodied victim away from the window. "How many friends did you bring along?"

"Nnnf..!"

Minoru blinked. "...Yunyun?"

"Yeah, it's her." Berdan slowly backed the pistol's silencer out of the Chinese girl's mouth. "Talk, you little shit."

"There's nobody else," Yunyun whimpered. "I came back to – "

"We heard you the first time," the unamused underling growled. She straightened, hoisting the captive up by her windbreaker's collar with a sinister leer. "Think the boss would like more company?"

Yunyun's eyes widened in horror. "N – no way..!"

_Great,_ thought Minoru, scratching his head as Berdan marched Yunyun out of the room. _Next thing I know, that kamikaze cabbie will show up._

* * *

Someone was faintly humming: the sound had a gritty texture in Canaan's brain. There was a reddish scent in the air, and the fabric under her bare arms tasted coppery.

"She's awake."

"Yes." That voice was Boxer's: opening her eyes, the synesthete found the demure maid standing over her, hands clasped. "Do you feel ill, Miss Canaan?"

"No..." Gradually Canaan's head cleared enough for her to sit up. She found herself on a sofa in a living room furnished in a modestly middle eastern style, with a gallery of glass sliding doors overlooking a sprawling garden.

A woman sat in the armchair which faced the sofa across the room's low central table, a leather-bound book lying open in her hands. She looked to be in her early forties, with a face closely resembling Alphard's and hair which cascaded elegantly over the shoulders of her pale blouse. "I must apologize for the rough journey," she said, putting the book aside. "Under the circumstances, it could not be avoided."

The assassin frowned as the night's memories began to fall into place, though she could detect no hostile intent in either Boxer or the unknown party. "Who are you?"

"My name is Fatima," the lady replied. "I believe you are... _familiar_ with my niece."

"Alphard..."

"Such a troublesome girl," Fatima sighed. "But it serves them right for foisting her off on that clumsy mercenary."

Canaan needed more context, though the clumsy mercenary would presumably be Siam. "Them?"

"Forgive me – I forget that Alphard has not told you what is happening." The elder woman rose from her seat. "If it does not inconvenience you, may we talk outside?"

It made little difference to Canaan, but some fresh air and a stretch of the legs would be nice. "All right."

"I'll see to breakfast," Boxer volunteered.

Fatima didn't overlook the way Canaan's eyes tracked the maid as she left. "Boxer worked for me before Alphard picked her up," she explained. "It was fortunate that she did not forget her old loyalties."

Canaan followed Fatima as she rolled one of the door panes aside and stepped out into the morning sun. "What do you want with me?"

"To tell the truth, I want nothing from you," Fatima answered matter-of-factly, leading the way down a winding path lined with flat stones. "But I was not sure Alphard would come without motivation."

"Why?"

"She looks down on me." A bee wandered across the path, on its way from one flower to the next. "I own a shipping company, a property I inherited from my late husband. Alphard thinks it is... I am not sure of the right word... Unglamorous, perhaps?"

"Mm." Close enough, Canaan figured. "You want her to come here? For what?"

"To discuss an alliance." They came to a wooden bench, thinly shaded by a lemon tree, and Fatima sat down. "Against her father's family, who are attacking her."

Canaan sat as well. "What do they want?"

"It is complicated," said Fatima, watching another bee go about its work oblivious to the human onlookers. "It began with her grandfather, a man who did... shrewd business, I think I should say, with the opposing powers of the Cold War. He gathered a great sum of money, and also collected information which could be damaging to certain governments. The money was passed on to his children, but the location of his other legacy was not known until recently."

"The family wants it."

"Yes." A gust of wind rustled the lemon tree's overhanging branches. "Alphard's mother – my elder sister, that is – was our father's favorite child. According to his will, the documents would go to her if she were still living."

"And now they belong to Alphard?"

Fatima nodded. "I have renounced any claim I had, and I am sure that is the only reason they are not attacking me as well." A stray leaf wafted past her face. "Perhaps it is petty, but I do not want to see the others obtain this bequest."

"You want Alphard to have the documents."

Canaan's host shrugged. "Alphard has never shown any interest in them," said she. "She prefers her own sources."

"I see." The synesthete quietly absorbed her companion's colors for a few moments. "What happens next?"

"My niece and the angry Canadian will arrive soon. I think they are bringing your friends... After we have talked, you will be free to go."

"And then?"

Fatima rose. "Then we will see what happens."


End file.
